Playing The Field

29. Malcolm

“Henders, if I see you put gum on the underside of your desk again, I will make you eat the pieces that have been there for the last thirty years.” Charlie halts the gum sticking then quickly rushes to the trash and tosses it.

“Good choice. Five more minutes, then we move on to statistical equations.”

The class groans in misery, which is oddly motivating to me.

“Mr. Geer, can we end early today?” Birdie asks behind the screen of her cell phone. She finished the pop quiz first and proceeded to pull out the device and scroll. It would usually drive me nuts, but she’s my top student. And she graduates in a month, so my tank for caring is just about empty.

“And why would we do that, Ms. Wilson?”

Setting the phone down, she levels me with a look of contempt. “Prom is in three days, sir. Some of us have very important responsibilities to focus on.”

“More important than statistical equations and probability fractions?”

The look of disgust on her face answers my question.

I check the time. With only fifteen minutes left in class, what’s the harm in them leaving early? It’s not like I’ll be reprimanded by my boss. Benny is currently drowning in prom nonsense. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to hear I let these rascals out early to tackle the never-ending to-do list Emma and Birdie seem to be creating together.

“What do the rest of you think?” I ask the class, half of them nodding in agreement and the other half shrugging like they don’t care. Typical response. “Fine,” I concede to the request. “Finish your quizzes, then get out of here.”

My school year always ends up this way—lack of interest or ambition, from me and my students. I get it. It’s been a long year, and with my B average overall, I should be pleased with how it’s all turned out. But this year has been a whirlwind, especially the last few weeks. I’m usually really good at keeping my work and home life separate, keeping my feelings under lock and key. It’s my specialty. But clearly, I have been doing a piss-poor job as of late, because my work life and home life have a rather addicting common denominator.

And that denominator has somehow grown infinitely. As hard as I try, everything is bleeding together, and I can’t stop myself from thinking about her all the damn time. I come to work thinking about Kate. I go home thinking about Kate. I fall asleep and dream about Kate. I dream about holding her, kissing her, being with her.

Just last night, I had a dream that we went to prom together and kissed. It felt so real, almost like deja vu. The feel of her skin against mine, her soft lips caressing my neck and jaw, was exhilarating and familiar. I woke up frantically searching for her in my empty bed. Again, piss poor at keeping things in check.

As the kids rush out of the classroom, I can’t help but think about my life before Glendale. It was perfectly quiet and peaceful. Being alone was my favorite thing. But the people here seem to have ruined me. They’ve ruined my quiet, lone-wolf life, making me desire their company like the annoying good people they are.

My phone buzzes as I journey out into the hall, dodging groups of kids shuffling by, most of whom are looking at their phones and not where they’re walking.

Benny: See you in 15! :)

The text is followed by a GIF of three men dancing around in tuxedos.

Yep, we’re shopping for tuxedos today. Apparently, this is prime time to buy with prom-season sales. A bone-chilling cold seeps into my skin, leaving me feeling on edge as I make my way through the sea of people.

“Coach! Coach Geer!” Sarah Kim waves at me over the other kids’ heads as she timidly pushes her way around her classmates. No one budges to let her by.

Knowing this will take forever, I sigh and turn toward her. The blockade of bodies splits like the Red Sea when I approach. I hate admitting how much I enjoy the impact I have on these kids. One look from me and mouths shut. Change in my direction, and entire bodies shift or disappear completely.

The seas have parted when I reach Sarah, her head covered with what could only be described as cat ears. But they aren’t regular cat ears you see at Halloween. They have feathers on them and some sort of spiky attachments down the band. I force my eyes away from the atrocity. “Yes, Ms. Kim?”

“I need your help!” Her eyes are bugging out of her skull, darting in every direction as we make our way down the hall.

“With?”

She halts and faces me. Her neck and cheeks go bright red as she glances around. Leaning in to whisper, she says, “With my prom dress.”

“Nope.” Absolutely not. I turn on my heel and speed away. There is no way in hell I’m partaking in any extra prom activities. I’ve done enough. I don’t even want to go to this stupid thing. Last night at Wafflin’, we ended up reliving our prom memories, and I had to endure telling my traumatizing memory—how Tracy Dilbeck agreed to be my date and then ditched me after two songs to make out with Georgie Hall. Then, she had the audacity to ask me for a ride home when Georgie decided he wanted to take Piper Holmes to the after-party and not her. It was the most humiliating night of my transformative years—more humiliating than when I tried frosted tips.

“Please, Coach!” Sarah pleads, tailing me into the break room. “Benny said you guys would be there today, and my mom won’t be back in time!”

Ellie, who is working tirelessly on the prom banners that will never see the light of day, looks up from the center of the break room, eyes filled with concern. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Geer won’t help me!” Sarah points an accusatory finger at me and pouts. Ellie shoots a deadly gaze in my direction. I know Sarah is her favorite student, no matter how much she denies it. Sarah gives me a disgruntled sigh and bats her sad lashes at Ellie, which makes Ellie cross her arms at me like I’m some kind of delinquent.

Thanks a lot, kid.

“Why won’t you help her?” Ellie asks, a twinkle of manipulation in her eyes as she waits for my response. I know this song and dance too well. She’ll ask me a thousand questions, cornering me into a self-reflective whirlpool, then I’ll start to drown in my defenses, swirling around and around in my head until I realize she’s right and I’m wrong, succumbing to her advice, letting her reach out her metaphorical hand, and taking it before I die on the wrong hill. Which doesn’t make sense, I know. How could there be a whirlpool on top of a hill? I don’t know. I just know that Ellie is too damn good at her job, and I hate it.

And I can already see what’s about to happen. Somehow, someway, Ellie is going to convince me that helping Sarah is a normal aspect of my job description, and I should accept it. So, instead of answering her question and risking that, I back away from the pile of glitter and glue at our feet and head toward the door.

“Mr. Geer,” Ellie snaps, trying to draw me back in.

Stay strong, Malcolm. Do not let this woman and her guilt-ridden eyes suck you back in. You are a man. A man with principles. And those principles will not waver over some teenager drama.

I make it to the doorway, my boot halfway into the hall, when she says again, “Mr. Geer,” more pointedly this time.

“No, dammit. I will not help her with her prom dress issue. There is a line I will not cross, Ms. Bailey, and that line is made up of thread and tulle.” I hate myself for knowing what tulle is.

“Oh.” Ellie’s arms drop to her sides, realization moving across her face. Ha, I won. I beat that little minx. “Sarah…” She turns toward her, face filled with solemn understanding. “How about I help you with your dress?”

“No, he has to!” She points in my direction. I take another step out into the hall. They’re like bears. If I back away slowly, I won’t get attacked.

“Can you tell me why Mr. Geer has to be the one to help you?”

“Because!” Sarah groans, covering her face with her hands, cat ears toppling forward slightly. She speaks into her hands when she says, “Because he was a football player, which means he knows what football players like.” Her words come out high-pitched and whiney, which grates me even more. I have to get out of here.

“Oh boy.” Ellie looks at me sympathetically, eyebrows arching skyward as if to tell me I should consider helping her.

“Please don’t make me,” I whisper pathetically.

“Hi!” Kate startles me, walking up to me in the hallway. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m getting bombarded by these two, that’s what!” I am now the one pointing accusatory fingers with both hands, like it’s a stick-up in an old western.

“Mr. Geer has been requested to assist Sarah Kim with a prom task,” Ellie sing-songs, as if this entire situation is a normal occurrence for an almost forty-year-old.

“Of course he’ll help you, Sarah!” Kate sing-songs right back, hugging my arm as unrelenting pride sparks in her eyes at me. “What do you need?” Kate directs her attention back to Sarah with her arms still wrapped around mine like a koala bear clinging to its branch.

“I need help deciding what dress to wear.”

“Oh…” Kate’s shock loosens her grip, hands sliding down and away from my arm. She looks at me warily, and I give her a confirming nod. Yep, that’s what you just signed me up for. “Well, that’s, um…maybe that isn’t—”

“You just said he could help!” Sarah’s defiance shakes the cat ears again, this time the other direction, and they just about slide off her head and hit the floor.

“I— I did,” Kate stutters.

“And Benny—er, Principal Divata, whatever”—she corrects herself with a half-hearted wave—“said you were already going to be there today anyway, so it’s not like it’s an inconvenience!”

“You have a point,” Kate whispers contemplatively.

“Great! So I’ll meet you there!” Sarah skips toward the door, clearly proud of herself for winning this little battle.

“Way to go,” I grumble through the side of my mouth.

“We can both help you.” Kate’s prideful tone is back, brassier than ever. She beams at me, as if she has found the perfect solution. I can’t help but smile at the happy in her eyes, even at the cost of myself. “Right?” she asks me. Her eyes are so full of hope it practically guts me.

They all stare at me. Waiting. Motionless. I still have a chance to bolt for the door. Run for the hills. Hell, I could run into the trees behind the football field and let Mother Nature take me. My boot squeaks on the tile floor as I shift my body, and Kate’s eyes bore deeper into me, the hope slowly turning into desperation.

God help me. “I guess we’re going dress shopping.”

The girls squeal in excitement, and I wish the Earth would split in two and swallow me whole this very moment.

“Why did you drag me into this?” I grumble in Kate’s ear. She’s scouring the racks, dresses slung over her arms and a pair of shoes in one hand. Her dark curls are pulled up into a half braid, small wispy pieces grazing her bare neck. I haven’t been this close to her in almost two weeks. Keeping my distance has been excruciating, worse than when I had to swim ten miles with a fifty-pound rucksack on my person.

Kate laughs at my misery, eyes dancing with delight at the current situation. “You can’t deny that this might be more fun than trying on tuxedos.”

“The jury is still out.”

I glance up from the racks of dresses to the other side of the store where Benny is being measured. The last time I went tuxedo shopping was nine years ago.

For Brennan’s wedding.

A rigid tightness crawls up my neck and into my jaw as the memory of the one he wore that day flood my mind, blending with the haunting image of him lying in his casket, wearing that same black tuxedo. My chest tightens, heat rising in my throat as I try to blink away the scene and focus on the sparkles and tulle in my hands.

“All you have to do is give a thumbs up or down,” Kate interrupts my thoughts, her voice pulling me back to the present. “Give your honest opinion, and it’ll be over before you know it!” She plucks another dress off the rack—a purple one with lace on the shoulders—and adds it to the growing pile. Hideous.

“That means I have to actually look.” The idea sends a crawling feeling down my back, and I have to shake it off, knocking one of the dresses off a hanger.

Kate rolls her lips. They tremble in the corners under the resistance, but a small bubble of a laugh slips through. “Just follow my lead. Look at me the entire time.” She waves these instructions off, completely unaware of how often I already do that. I wonder if she’ll ever be aware of how often I look at her. How often my eyes are drawn to her like magnets.

I’m constantly amazed at the things she’s never noticed.

She slips away with the pile of dresses, and I’m left alone in the clearance aisle, a plethora of prom hopefuls scouring the options around me. Fluff, puff, and glitter threaten to suffocate me as I find my way to our reserved booth. Yes, there are designated seating areas we have to book ahead of time in a place like this. A specified selection of chairs faces a mirror in the center of the store. My hope for subtlety on being here goes straight out the window when I see myself in said mirror. Linen button-up, scuffed work boots, and my Glendale baseball cap are an eyesore compared to the peppy moms and grannies accompanying their teenagers. Aside from Benny, I’m the only male in this place, except for Sebastian, who works here and is currently telling Sarah that orange is not her color.

The girls make their way to the seating area, flute glasses filled with cider in hand. I would know because I’ve downed five of them sitting here.

“Alright, ladies. Let’s get this thing started!” Sebastian booms from the back, clapping his hands and gesturing Sarah to the room behind the mirror. I slouch down into the cushioned chair I’m currently residing in and lean my head against the back. Sebastian hovers over me with a tape measure draped around his neck and a pencil behind his ear. “Are you having fun?”

“A blast,” I say, closing my eyes as he gives me a twitchy smirk.

“It’ll be over before you know it,” Kate whispers from my right. “She’s going to pick the purple one.”

I moan into my hands, sliding even farther down until the chair tips my hat off my head, blocking my eyes. This is perfect, actually. I’ll just stay right here.

I hear a small gasp leave Kate and the rustling of movement in front of me. Peeking through a hole in my hat, I see Sarah glide out of the dressing room wearing a green number with puffy sleeves. It’s almost as bad as the purple one. I glance over to Kate, who is giving it a thumbs up, a giddy smile stretched across her face.

She looks over at me expectantly, thumb still raised. Sarah is preoccupied with assessing the back of the dress when I finally sit up. I readjust my hat to see more clearly and confirm my original thoughts. Awful. It’s so awful I wouldn’t bury my worst enemy in it. The material is shiny, the sleeves are almost as big as her head, and there’s a huge bow in the back, drawing a little too much attention to that specific area. Sarah’s not my kid, and I don’t have any feelings about what she does and doesn’t wear out in the world, but I do respect her enough as a young lady to be honest.

“It’s awful.” I give a thumbs down.

“Malcolm.” Kate scoffs at me, her smile changing from joy to horror, her cheeks screaming for relief the longer she holds it in place.

“I’m not gonna lie to the kid. Sarah, it’s bad.”

“Thank goodness, because I hate it.” Sarah rushes off behind the partition.

Kate gapes at me, a mixture of impressed and confused distorting her features. “How did…” She trails off, turning to face the mirror again. I watch as she ponders, her nose wiggling side to side when she does. You can confirm Kate is in deep thought by one of two things: wiggling her nose or sticking out her tongue to one side. Both are adorable to witness but impossible to take seriously. I watch as her nose slowly stops moving, her gaze shifting back to me. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

The question catches me off guard. How I left that impression with a dress vote is beyond me. I chuckle and scratch my jaw with both hands. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on.” She sighs. “There isn’t anything you can’t do, Malcolm! For heaven’s sake, you hand-carved a massive prom sign in less than a week!”

“I just had a lot of time on my hands,” I say softly, hoping it doesn’t come across as a jab. The truth is, I agreed to do it to keep myself busy. Going from spending almost every moment with Kate before camp then coming back and barely seeing her has been eating me alive. My hands were burning at the sight of her, longing to touch her. Hold her. Kiss her until my vision went hazy. I had to do something to get rid of the pent-up energy.

“Ah, I see.” I can sense by her tone that she knows exactly what I mean by the extra time. Unease settles on her face, pulling her lips and eyebrows down slightly. “Regardless, you’re a man of many talents.”

“Thank you.” I attempt a wink at her, but she’s back to focusing on the mirror, her fingers tracing a line around her lips. She’s lost in thought again, and I desperately want to know what she’s thinking.

Sarah comes out in the purple dress, and Kate perks up, her feet tapping with excitement. I stand corrected. It’s not as bad as the puke-green one. But it’s not great either. It looks like something a mother would wear to a wedding. The lace sleeves poke out in the corners, making her look much wider than she really is.

“Well?” Sarah asks, holding her breath.

Kate goes to throw a thumbs up then resists, looking to me for confirmation. Of course this entire situation has turned into me being the deciding vote. Somebody kill me now. I shake my head once, hoping that’s finality enough for this decision. But with Kate, I should stop assuming she will do what I expect, especially when she turns to face me, trying her hardest to speak to me telepathically, based on her creepy eyebrow movement.

“Just say it,” Sarah groans, watching us through the mirror.

“I think it’s ugly,” I say.

Kate throws her head in her hands and groans my name. “Malcolm!”

I have to clench the arms of my chair to keep from jumping toward her. The sound of her muffled voice groaning my name sends a deep sensation throughout my body, coursing through my veins like its own blood supply.

“You have to be nice,” she reprimands me through a forced smile.

“No, no. This is what I need. Thank you, Coach!” She steps off the tiny pedestal, the Barney tail of a dress rustling as she walks back to her dressing room.

“I am being nice,” I say when Sarah is out of sight. “Honesty is nice. No one likes a liar.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

A chuckle builds in my chest as Kate’s cheeks burn with fury. “Of course not. I’m just saying honesty is the best policy.” I shrug and fill my tiny glass with more cider.

“Yeah…it is.” Kate disappears into her thoughts again, staring blankly at the glass in my hand. I wish I could know what’s going on in that head of hers, but she doesn’t want that with me. And it’s probably better if I just ignore it, even if it fills my stomach with acid. The potential for an ulcer is high the more I dwell on anything Kate-related.

She pulls her phone out, giggling at the screen. Knowing my luck, it’s another online dater delivering some pathetic one-liner. I down the cider and fill my glass again like it’s alcohol, but really, it’s straight sugar.

“Are you honest with me?”

I choke on the cider at her question then clear my throat twice to get words out. “What?”

“Are you always honest with me?” she asks sternly, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. I’m no genius, but I know Kate Stanley, and I know when she has a motive. Her face goes rigid as she focuses on the inevitable result she’s waiting for, shoulders tense and jaw ticking. I catalog each body part’s movements, confirming my own suspicions.

I scratch my head and reposition my hat before resting my hands on my chest. “No. I’m not.”

The gasp that leaves her body is enough to fill a thousand balloons. I smirk at her and give a light shrug. Of course I’m not always honest with her. When she asks if I like her movie choice when it’s about lovesick vampires, or if I want to help with a classroom project instead of going home on time, or even when she asks if I’d rather go with her to that new vegan restaurant downtown than eat the steak I have marinating at home, I’m not honest. She asks, thinking it’s the activity that will sway me, but really, it’s just the chance for more time with her. Technically, it’s lying, but I’d rather make the choice that I know makes her happy than indulge myself. Why miss out on watching her smile slowly grow into a cheek-stinging grin from sheer joy when I can easily just cook the steak another time?

“So, you’re a liar, then?” She crosses her arms with no intention of letting the topic go.

“No, I’m not. I’m just saying that I’m not always honest.”

She gives a humph in response to this, throwing her shoulders back into the chair—eyebrows pinched in the center, jaw clenching, feet bouncing up and down rapidly—a tiny tantrum fighting to break through. I’ve seen a few of them. The worst one was when someone ate the last everything bagel the morning after she finished her carb fast. The poor girl was miserable for two weeks, eating nothing but salad and tofu. I thought she might waste away at any moment. So, when she was told Margaret brought fresh bagels, she half sprinted down the hall in heels to get to them. Devastation and horror ripped across her face as she tore through the bags to find there was only plain wheat bagels left.

“Are you always honest with me?” I ask her.

“Yes!”

“Really?” I rest my chin in my hand and eye her, well aware that’s not true. No one is completely honest, no matter how hard they try to be. There are just things in life that are better left unsaid. If the truth isn’t beneficial or edifying, it’s unnecessary to share it. Simple as that. “So, last month, when I asked if you wanted to go with me to an outdoor expo, and you said, and I quote, ‘That sounds so fun. I’d love to,’ you were being honest?”

She gapes at me, her right thumb twitching as it rests on her arm. Pink moves across her cheeks, and her eyes slowly move into a squint at the realization that she’s been checkmated.

She stays silent, so I ask, “Why are you asking, anyway?”

Kate doesn’t answer as she looks straight ahead, crossing her arms deeper across her chest. Sarah comes out in a black dress that is more subtle than the rest, and I feel proud of the direction she’s going—until she pulls out hot-pink leopard-print gloves to pair with it. Kate sits up straighter, eagerness moving up her spine as she gives Sarah a soft clap.

Sarah looks at me through the mirror, a pleading look on her face. “Better,” I say. “Are the gloves necessary?”

“The gloves are adorable!” Kate interjects. “They’re fun, and they fit her personality!”

“Yeah.” Sarah crosses her arms at me. “I like them.”

“Well, you don’t need any man’s approval, especially mine. So, if that’s what you want to wear…” I rein it in, letting my words trail off. It hits me then how fatherly I sound, and that was far from my intention when agreeing to this. Sarah twirls in front of the mirror as Kate jumps up to take photos for her. “Let’s send some to your mom!”

“Who are you going with, anyway?” That fatherly feeling gnaws at me a tiny bit more. For some reason, I need to know who her date is.

Sarah hesitates, posing for another photo, mouth opening and closing as she twiddles with the gloves. Kate lowers her phone slowly, no longer taking pictures. Sarah’s face goes ghost white as realization washes over all of us.

“Are you going with Ethan?” Kate asks, wincing, like the answer will physically pain her.

Sarah doesn’t respond.

That’s answer enough for me. “Well,” I say, pushing up from the armrest of the chair, “in that case, you need something with sleeves and a turtleneck.”

Kate giggles, while Sarah puts her hands on her hips. “I can handle myself, thank you.”

“I’m just saying”—I toss my hands up in surrender—“the kid has a mind of his own.”

“I’ll have you know”—Sarah whips around to face me—“Ethan can be very kind! He has been nothing but a gentleman to me and has respected my wishes.” She starts to ramp up, jabbing her gloved thumb into her chest. “Anytime I’ve asked him to slow down, he has! And when we ki—”

“Nope. La la la. I don’t need to hear it.” I shove my hands over my ears. I see Benny’s reflection behind me as he waves me over to him. Thank God. I turn to him, throwing my arms over his shoulders and whispering, “My hero.”

“I tried to hurry.” He chuckles.

“You’re weak, Geer.” Kate rolls her eyes, slouching back into her chair and topping off her cider.

“Ah, hush, this takes precedence.” I wave her off and focus back on Sarah. “Stick with black, red, or white. Animal prints or animal ears are fine in moderation. You want to be yourself, yes, but you still want to look classy, right?” I wave a hand at her for understanding, and she nods. “Good, now don’t ever ask me for a favor again.”

“So bossy.” Kate giggles after downing her drink, a bit of a haze in her voice. Maybe the sugary drink does have an effect.

“Now, let”s continue on with this tortuous day.” I redirect to Benny.

“It won’t be that bad,” he says, draping an arm over my shoulder.

“We’ll see about that.”

Benny guides me over to the tailor, and they begin discussing colors and fabrics. Their voices fade into a soft muffled sound as I continue watching Kate fluff Sarah’s dress and hair for another picture. It’s little glimpses of Kate’s goodness that tighten the grip she has on my heart. Her generosity, her joy, even her tiny tantrums. I want all of it, and something tells me she does too, but I need to be sure. Figuring out what Kate wants has always been a challenge—one I accept regardless of the outcome—but I can’t with this. I can’t spook her with my own feelings.

“What do you think?” Benny asks.

“Hmm?” I tear my gaze away from Kate and try to recall the words he just spoke.

“You’ll be honest if you hate it?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“Full honesty, man. That’s all I need.” Benny pats me on the back and disappears into the row of coats.

Like a moth to a flame, my eyes trail back to Kate as the girls gather their things and head to the checkout counter. Kate glances back over her shoulder and freezes in her tracks. Turning to fully face me, she waves eagerly, and her smile broadens, like the time she watched the sun set over the Grand Canyon for the first time—an expression full of joy and wonder.

A flicker of something passes between us, and it’s the tiniest bit of confirmation I need to move forward and get my girl.

Full honesty.